


when the lilies bloom

by mayuuunaise



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Barely Canon Compliant, Character Study, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, i just really really wanted to talk about what comes after, i say this is hanahaki but we never actually get any flowers lmao, ish, that is not a tag i thought i'd use ever in my life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:46:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26420596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayuuunaise/pseuds/mayuuunaise
Summary: No amount of shoujo manga tropes and cliches can prepare Muku for the slow realization that there is nothing more painful than a love lost from missed timing.
Relationships: Rurikawa Yuki/Sakisaka Muku
Comments: 9
Kudos: 33





	when the lilies bloom

Muku is in fourth period when his homeroom teacher excuses him from class with a grim frown on her face. Something drops in his stomach at the sight, even if he has no clue at all what they may want from him. He hasn’t been in a fight, and Tsumugi-san makes sure that all their homework have been answered and ready for submission. Maybe his teacher has finally received the phone call that inevitably informs them that a distant relative of his has died and named Muku, their estranged second cousin twice removed, the sole heir to a tea-manufacturing empire he, in his commoner lifestyle, has never heard of?

Whatever scenario he concocts in the back of his head at the potential revelation that’s sure to trigger a few near-death flags is thrown out the window when Fukuzawa-sensei starts talking, slow and careful as if afraid to frighten him.

“Sakisaka, you belong in the same acting troupe of some sort as Rurikawa from Class 4, right?”

Yuki-kun hadn’t been feeling well that day, bad enough apparently that even Sakyo refused to let him outside of his room, much less let him drag himself to St. Flora’s. They figured it might have been due to the tight schedule Yuki has been in for constructing the costumes for their next mixed-troupe play. Muku personally hasn’t seen much of Yuki the past few days, swamped with rehearsals as second lead to Tsumugi, but has heard from Kazu-kun that the designs’ finalizations itself had been incredibly delayed. Enough apparently that Omi, Taichi and even Banri had been roped into assisting the designer in finishing up the costumes.

“We got a call from your guardian. Now, I need you to be calm about this-” which is obviously the last thing he’ll be upon hearing that exact phrase said in that exact tone. “-but Tachibana-san informed me that Rurikawa is in the hospital. She wanted me to let you know that he was a little touch-and-go in the morning, but he pulled through and…”

Muku has effectively blocked out everything else Fukuzawa-sensei says. He feels his heart stutter before picking up the pace to a deafening pound when he hears Yuki-kun had been close to -

He can’t even say it, can’t even think it.

“Sensei, may I be excused for the rest of the day?” His homeroom adviser pauses, looks close to instinctively denying him permission to skip classes, but something in his face might have made her reconsider. She looks at him, searches for something, and when she finally finds it, her whole face drops into a semblance of sympathy.

“…Of course, Sakisaka. I’ll explain the situation to your teachers.”

Muku bows because it’s the polite thing to do, and he is nothing if not polite. He waits out in the hall as instructed for fourth period to end, listening but not quite to Fukuzawa-sensei murmuring to herself over poor Rurikawa and hopes for good news in the coming days. When their math teacher steps out into the hall at the sound of the lunch bell, surprised that the two of them are apparently still talking, Muku quickly slips back into the classroom. Some classmates give him concerned looks but he pays them no mind.

He figures that years of stage plays and a multitude of improv shows have somehow helped in reigning in the panic that Yuki so often teased to be so obvious on his face. Thinking of Yuki-kun only makes something in his chest hurt more and Muku gathers his school things even faster. He doesn’t hear his classmates’ voices when they ask him if he’s alright, if he wants a drink or some bread for lunch; everything is just a vague white noise if he has to be honest, so Muku can only really make noncommittal noises that doesn’t account for anything.

Muku wears what he hopes isn’t a shaky smile, attempting to reassure even as he hurries to the door with his backpack only halfway worn. He dodges curious high schoolers in the hall, some of his old teammates frowning in confusion when they see him heading to their shoe lockers.

Muku keeps smiling, keeps walking, keeps trying to breath properly when all he really wants is to call the Director and maybe cry in Tsumugi’s comforting arms. That sounds like a plan, but only after he can see for himself that Yuki is okay.

His slow steps pick up the pace until it becomes a light jog, until that in turn becomes quick burst of sprints much like that ones he used to do for warm-ups. And then Muku is running, slipping past noon-time commuters and adults on their lunch breaks alike. His knee starts protesting at the sudden strain but he pays none of it any mind.

The pounding in his heart has nothing to do with the way he jumps over barriers for shortcuts to a hospital he is only far too intimate with.

❀

“Yuki-kun!” Muku exclaims with all the panicked urgency that a male protagonist would strive to hide in the next few panels out of embarrassment, complete with the dramatic flourish of slamming a hospital door open. Baby blue eyes dart all over the room; he’d be embarrassed if it were the general ward, but Sakyo apparently doesn’t skimp when it comes to their troupe members’ health. “Are you okay, what happened? Was it a fever or, or, did your cough get worse? Was it tonsillitis? Oh, no! It _is_ tonsillitis, isn’t it? No wonder you didn’t want to talk at all recently, it must have been so painful!”

Yuki doesn’t look all that bad, all things considering; it’s with great relief that the boy only looks mildly confused at his obviously disheveled state. He’s so relieved, he can already feel the tears starting to well up in his eyes.

“Sakisaka…?” Yuki sounds unsure and the tears rescind almost immediately at the sound of his last name. Muku is fairly sure that the perplexed look on the green-haired boy’s face mirrors his own. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you? Fukuzawa-sensei told me you were in the hospital?” He scrolls through the large amount of shoujo manga illness plot cliches in his head until his overactive imagination settles on one and he gasps loudly. “Oh no! Were you so sick that you fainted and hit your head? Did the doctors say it was amnesia? Oh wait, but that would mean that you wouldn’t recognize me at all but you know my name so maybe—”

The doors slide open and he hears a soft gasp. Yuki looks over his shoulder and scowls at the people behind him, at the very least that looks incredibly familiar for Muku.

“You called the school?” He asks, incredulous. Muku turns to find Kazunari, Misumi, Izumi, and Sakyo standing awkwardly by the doorway. Yuki’s frown deepens, but it’s not the kind he wears when angry, Muku notes. “Was the school supposed to contact my parents? What were they doing blabbing to Sakisaka? That’s an invasion of privacy.”

“Yukki, we didn’t contact the school for—” surprisingly (or not, he’s always been deceptively perceptive of the people he’s with), Misumi is the one who pulls Kazunari’s elbow with an empathetic shake of his head. Kazu-kun immediately clamps his mouth shut, eyes darting to Sakyo and Izumi for silent back-up. The two oldest turn to each other for a brief moment before Sakyo sighs and walks further into the room.

“Brat, of course we had to call the school. Who knows how long they’ll keep you here, huh?” Sakyo pulls out a bottle of water and almost shoves it in Yuki’s face. The younger boy takes it with a glare. “Drink up, your throat must be dry as the Sahara right about now. Don’t even think about talking for the next hour.”

Misumi and Kazunari take that as their cue to hop closer, content to be doing all the talking for him it seems. Misumi sits at the foot of Yuki’s bed and Kazu squeezes right next to him, shoving his phone and talking a mile a minute over his instablam. He hears snippets about The Great Sardine Search, oddly enough, but the blonde keeps his voice uncharacteristically softer that Muku needs to strain his ears to catch anything.

Muku still stands in the middle of the room, unsure how to proceed from there. While Yuki doesn’t look very comfortable with how close Kazunari sticks to him, it also doesn’t look like he minds all that much either. Yuki has never particularly liked people creeping up in his private space, but years with touchy-feely group members have eventually gotten him to lower his walls. There’s a little bit of tension in his shoulders, like he doesn’t understand why he’s so comfortable with Kazunari taking more space than needed and Misumi fiddling with the ends of his hospital blanket, but his body seems to remember that these are people he trusts.

So it’s not amnesia, Muku reasons. Yuki still bickers with Sakyo like it’s second nature, begrudingly lets Kazu take up more space than he should.

But Muku hasn’t been Sakisaka to Yuki-kun in four years. There’s a lump in his throat that won’t go away at the thought no matter how much Muku swallows.

“Muku-kun,” Izumi’s voice is as soft as the featherlight touch on his elbow. He turns to the director and watches how her worried features scrunches up into something a little close to crying. Muku is overcome with the urge to assure her that Yuki looks like he’ll be fine, but he catches the pointed look Sakyo gives him in his periphery and promptly clamps his mouth shut. Izumi doesn’t seem to catch their silent exchange, her focus entirely on him and honestly, it only makes Muku’s nerves stand on edge even more when she asks, “Can I talk to you?”

He nods wordlessly, lets Izumi lead him out of the room with a gently hand on his back. Muku’s eyes flit over his shoulder. His body tenses when he catches Yuki’s eye, only for the green-haired boy to look away as quick as he could. Something cold settles in his stomach at the sight.

❀

“It was hanahaki.”

Muku’s breath hitches.

Despite the fact that the two of them are in a secluded hallway, Izumi’s voice is still so gentle and low when she starts to explain. She holds Muku’s hand in an attempt to comfort, but the tremble he feels as she does so makes him wonder who needs it more.

“We found him this morning. It was all so fast, and,” she starts to explain, trying to find the right words or simply trying not to cry as she does so. Izumi must have been so scared, Muku thinks, and he wraps his free hand over her own. He hopes the extra warmth helps and feels a little bit of relief when she smiles a little bit at him. Izumi takes a deep breath and tries to recall to the best of her abilities.

Azuma found him; out of sheer luck, Azu-nee somehow managed to hear the exact moment Yuki collapsed in his and Tenma’s shared room. Izumi tells him that it was the loudest she’s ever heard his voice. Azuma never shouts, never raises his voice unless his character needs to; it unnerves Muku when he imagines what kind of expression Azu-nee must have had seeing one of their youngest coughing up a pool of his own blood, surrounded by flower petals. Izumi recounts that Sakyo came up not long after, expertly delegating tasks, and asked her to call the paramedics, demand Takato run back to the dorm, or find literally anyone with a car _it didn’t matter if Chigasaki was halfway to work he better make that damned u-turn or else_. Yuki had already been breathing shallowly by the time the ambulance arrived at the hospital, coughing too much blood and too many flower buds than any of them had been comfortable with.

The director explains that Kazunari had already been waiting in the halls by the time they arrived in the E.R., his university apparently nearer here than the dorm. The look on his face then told them all that they’d be damned if they thought they could keep him away form his troupe. Misumi similarly refused to leave Yuki’s side after hearing Azuma’s scream; Sakyo had been forced to relent when Misumi looked like he’d jump on the ambulance roof to make sure Yuki would be alright if he had to.

A part of Muku is relieved it hadn’t been him in the dorms, that Yuki didn’t collapse when he took a peek just before he was off to school. A bigger part of him wants to throw up because why _hadn’t_ it been him? Why hadn’t he seen the signs before? He has _always_ been by Yuki-kun’s side; how could he, of all people, have missed it? The guilt brings a fresh wave of tears threatening to fall but he tries his hardest to stay as strong as Izumi. Their poor director looks like she’s one breath away from a full on breakdown.

“The doctors had to do an emergency operation.”

His eyes snap back up at the confession, wide in disbelief. Had it been that bad? It shouldn’t surprise him, Yuki is as stubborn as he is as talented. The guilt in his throat lodges itself deeper, growing more uncomfortable with every realization that as much as he prides himself for being best friends with Yuki, there were so many things the boy kept secret. Too many truths that he hadn’t trusted Muku with, and he knows that’s such a selfish thing to say, but he thought —

It doesn’t matter what he thinks.

“Does Yuki-kun know?” He whispers, loaded with questions he’s not sure he’s ready to hear the answers for. Does Yuki know about the surgery? Does Yuki know it was hanahaki? Izumi’s frown deepens, she opens her mouth to say something but nothing comes out. She releases a shuddering breath before finally looking into his eyes with a hardened resolve he has seen multiple times in the backstage wings.

“Sakyo and I gave the consent.”

It’s all the answer Muku needs.

For the first time in a very long while, all the voices in his head quiets into a deafening silence, as if they too have no choice but to mourn with him.

❀

Yuki is discharged a week later and they still have no clue who it is. Izumi puts her foot down and orders a cease and desist the moment she hears Taichi bringing up theories with Citron in the living room the morning before he comes back.

“Yuki didn’t confess for a reason.” She argues with a sense of finality, as if that statement alone should be enough for them to give up. There’s a frustration that they don’t often see coming from the director when she talks about Yuki and it’s enough for all of them to quiet down. “There’s no point to it anyway. Don’t go making this any harder for him.”

Muku vaguely remembers Izumi mention how her mother had opted for the surgery two years after her father’s disappearance. It had been in the early stages for her mother, but the consequences of forcibly removing hanahaki leaves no room for discrimination. All traces of Tachibana Yukio had been erased from her childhood home, leaving only vague blank spots like tan lines over a ring finger that evens out with time.

Muku wonders if the same would apply to Yuki-kun too, eventually.

Taichi ends up swearing he’ll drop it, no matter how reluctant he may be. Muku keeps quiet, knowing he could never keep such a promise; he looks away guiltily when Izumi catches his eye.

❀

There is only so much information from both manga and medical journals alike that Muku can find about hanahaki and the removal surgery. He reminds himself that it isn’t so much for Yuki-kun than it is for himself. He wants to know how best to help, Muku tries to convince himself, and does his best to ignore the constant itch on the back of his head desperately asking who it might have been.

Sometimes he wonders whether the itch means that he feels sorry for them, or if he’s just incredibly resentful. Muku doesn’t really know which option is worse and keeps these thoughts hidden in the very depths of his being.

Maybe he should talk to Azu-nee about it; the older man just seems to always know how to deal with these things, as if you could hide nothing from his watchful golden eyes. He glances at Azuma during one of their quiet colouring sessions, only to find him already looking at him. It isn’t uncommon, sometimes Azuma just likes to stop and watch his colouring companions work out all their accumulated stress with a kind of contentment Muku can only compare to shinto monks. But there’s an emotion that flashes too fast for Muku to place, as soon as it registers, it just as quickly disappears. Azuma gives him one of his enigmatic, close mouthed smile from across the table and picks up one of his colouring pens.

Strangely, he feels like he’s been caught even though Azu-nee had been the one looking.

❀

“Do you think it’s possible to recover memories even when they’re all completely gone?”

If his question surprises Tsumugi at all, the older man does a good job of hiding it with an easy smile. They’re going over some of Muku’s science notes in preparation for a test sometime this week, chapters on learning and retention of information that Tsumugi had laughed at and said would fit better in the realm of social sciences. Tsumugi uses one of his coloured pens to scribble the correct answer to one of Kumon’s classic literature tests before he answers him.

“Well, I believe there are some things that are irreversible.” he starts after handing the high-schooler problem sets he’d asked Itaru to help prepare beforehand. Muku doesn’t know if the pout that naturally comes out is for the worksheet or for Tsumugi’s answer. “But that also means that I believe there are some things that we can never really forget, despite all manner of logic and reason telling us it’s impossible.”

Muku isn’t sure he follows, but Tsumugi smiles at him in a way that makes him feel safe and secure and just a little bit more hopeful.

❀

No one talks about how Yuki’s memories seem the vaguest over memories of the summer troupe.

Still, it isn’t that noticeable, if you don’t think too hard about it. But Muku always overthinks, like so many of the members of their company, and it becomes more evident the more days crawl by post-surgery. Yuki antagonizes Tsuzuru one day about animal ears like it is only obvious he does so, and if Tsuzuru is surprised, he does a good job of hiding it by reacting not even a split second later.

There are some memories that are clearer. Muku has learned to log it in his head, filed away in the multitude of facts and trivia of Yuki-kun that he has accumulated over the years. It’s an extensive list that he’s very proud of, but now keeps close to his heart in fear that Izumi might think him disobeying her favour to drop the hanahaki search. A part of Muku knows Izumi wouldn’t be so quick to judge, but another part whispers in his head that this is exactly what Taichi had been thinking about then. He tries to reason with himself that no, this has nothing to do with the burning curiosity of the cause of Yuki-kun’s hanahaki but Muku has never really learned how to lie.

Instead, Muku learns to navigate through the blind spots in Yuki’s memories like a forgotten dance, stumbling in the dark until his muscles have re-familiarized itself with the steps. Offers to lead when the gaps become too wide for Yuki to cross himself, but falls in step time and time again when the other boy finds tentative footing. Muku lets Yuki move at his own pace as much as he can. He tries not to keep his hopes up, but it’s a difficult thing to do when he sees the way Yuki’s orange eyes brighten with recognition over old doodles in the margins of his notebooks or how his shoulders slacken over the volume of Kumon’s voice, unexpectedly used to the high tone and pitch.

He becomes _Muku_ again a few months after and he almost bursts into tears at the way Yuki almost trips over the syllables. Tentative, unsure, and a little embarrassed, but the resolve in his face tells Muku that the action might not feel as unfamiliar as he’d thought it would be.

It feels a little like asking to be friends again, no matter the unspoken gaps of memories and emotions and the tingling sensation of something screaming in the back of his head in between. Muku finds that he doesn’t really mind, not at all; he’ll always ask to have Yuki-kun by his side after all.

❀

Likewise, there are some days that are harder. He has to remind himself that Yuki isn’t made of glass, no matter how fragile he looks in those moments especially.

But Muku himself is only human, and–

“Director-san, how do you do it?”

Both Izumi and he are surprised by the words that spill from his lips. Muku panics and looks up, like a deer caught in the headlights with baby blue eyes wide and teary; Izumi looks like he just sucker-punched her in the gut and it makes the guilt about a hundred times worse.

He doesn’t mean to pry, has been careful in abiding by the unspoken rule that the concept of hanahaki isn’t meant to be discussed around their usually cheery director. But, he argues with himself, Izumi always tells him that it’s okay to have bad days and it’s okay to admit that you have a hard time dealing with them. It just so happens that his bad days are rather peculiar and have been piled one on top of the other, starting from that day in a bland hospital room with a blank stare and a distant “ _Sakisaka_?”

Some days are just very hard, he argues, like the ones where Muku catches Yuki stare distractedly over a dog-eared script, jaw tight and mind trying to reach memories that are no longer there. Majority don’t seem to notice, especially when he schools his feature into his usual cool, deadpan look whenever anyone asks, and something in Muku’s chest aches and squeezes at how unfair all of it is.

But Izumi notices, Muku sees it in the way her mouth draws into a thin line when she catches sight of it. He wonders if she sees her mother in the sudden pauses of Yuki’s usual razor sharp wit, if she recognizes the split-second confusion that shows on his face over habits he doesn’t remember having but his body seems to recall.

He wonders if Izumi’s mother is happier, not knowing what the blank spaces in the gaps of her memories mean; if Yuki-kun would eventually grow to be as well.

“Nevermind, that was very rude, I’m so–”

“No, it’s fine,” Izumi smiles and looks at him with fondness. She looks apologetic, even though Muku knows she hasn’t done anything wrong. “I didn’t think about how hard this must be for you too, Muku-kun.”

She fidgets with the cup of coffee. The morning is still quiet and Muku has enough sense to be embarrassed to bring up such a sensitive topic so early in the morning. With grace, Izumi takes it all in stride.

“Sometimes I think it’s harder for the people who remember than those who forget,” she whispers into the steam wafting from her drink.

There’s no going back after the surgery, that’s what all the medical journals tell him after all.

What the medical journals forget to say is that it means there’s no moving forward for those who remember either.

❀

“Do you think, if circumstances were different, Yuki-kun would have asked for the surgery too?”

Izumi gives him an amused look, like the answer should be obvious.

“Not at all.”

❀

Muku’s favourite chores are often associated with the storage room most Winter Troupe members are reluctant to even go near. He can’t really help it, there are just too many fond memories and fun scenarios that come up whenever he finds a used prop or folds an old costume. Even when he comes out of there with too many dustballs stuck in his pink curls and often Azami’s disapproving scowl over his disheveled state, Muku always considers it time well spent.

It’s with a little bit of barely concealed excitement, then, when he agrees to assist Yuki in scouring the area for buttons and spare fabric for a personal project.

“These don’t look too old.”

He looks over the piles of boxes on his side to find Yuki unpacking costumes from a box marked with a little flower and heart courtesy of Kazunari’s professional doodling skills. Muku can’t stop the grin that blooms on his face in spite of the voice in the back of his head nagging him to understand the implications of the designer’s words. “You found them!”

The other boy shoots him an amused look before picking up a cyan silk cravat with approval. “I didn’t think we’d find things with such high quality.”

Muku shuffles over to sit by him, muffling a giggle with the sleeve of his shirt. He plucks up Broto’s tunic from the pile, fondly going over the black accents Kazunari painted. He remembers Yuki refusing to hand over any piece of Prince Florence’s costume to anyone, demanding that he would be the one to complete it which meant reluctantly having their chipper art student paint details he knows would have looked amazing if embroidered. Muku wonders if these are part of the clearer memories, but doesn’t get his hopes up too high. He hums in approval and begins to fold the clothes back the way Yuki likes them, “Of course they’re high quality, Yuki-kun was the one who made them after all.”

“I, what?” Yuki looks over at him in surprise. “I made these?”

Muku pauses at the shock in his tone. Wide baby blues watch the minute changes in Yuki’s expression.

“Yuki-kun…?” he whispers and edges closer. He reaches out to comfort, but falls short when he senses the other tense. Muku quickly takes back his hand, holds it close to his chest, and tries not to look too hurt at the silent rejection. “Is, is everything okay? Are you alright?”

Yuki doesn’t answer, lips pursed in a tight line. He looks away away from Muku with a frown, his grip on Prince Florence’s cape tightening ever so slightly. Yuki releases a shuddering breath, and suddenly there is nothing but a quiet resignation in the way his shoulders curl around himself. His hand reaches up to trail careful, featherlight touches over silk; there’s a sort of reverence in the way fingers calloused from needlework ghost over every embroidered flower, not a single golden stitch out of place. Muku remembers Kumon gushing over the designs, recalls how much Taichi whined about cramping fingers and hand-stitched details. There are so many fond memories Muku has carefully collected in the months they’ve spent bringing the world of the Floral Prince to life.

And yet he finds not even a smidge of recognition for any of it in Yuki’s burning orange eyes. Not even with the gargantuan effort he must be exerting if the scrunched up brows indicate anything.

“Sorry, I’m... drawing a complete blank.” Yuki’s voice is barely above a whisper, as if fearing that should he say the words, the memories may never actually come back at all.

“But how can that happen? You’ve always managed to remember even just a little—”

A gentle memory floats in his head, of a boy so usually razor sharp softening at the edges when he steps into his role as Prince Florence, “ _You can finally show them your new dream, huh_?”

Muku cuts himself off, his mouth falling open as the dread sinks into the very depths of his bones.

Surgically removing hanahaki doesn’t just mean forcibly erasing every detail of the person you love from the moment you’ve realized you have fallen for them. It means removing even memories and moments of immense love for them; it means forgetting the ways you have come to express the depths of that very same love.

It means Rurikawa Yuki has forgotten —

Muku feels like laughing. He feels like he wants to tear his hair out. Muku wonders, if there really are gods and deities looking over their inevitable fates, would they also laugh at the irony of a boy who forgets the world of the floral prince after he almost dies suffocating from the lilies in his lungs?

Yuki’s scowl eases its intensity, now focused solely on him. Muku recognizes it as the other boy’s unique brand of concern, the one that tries desperately hard not to look bothered but can’t completely hide the worry. He’s not going to cry, he absolutely _cannot_ cry—

“...Muku?”

Muku takes in a sharp breath. He summons all the acting experience he has accumulated over the past four years and feels his lips stretch into a smile. “It’s nothing, Yuki-kun. Must not have been very important.”

❀

That evening, he races to his shared dorm room with Kazunari, grateful that Yuki doesn’t question him when he says he isn’t hungry. The distance from the front door to his room on the second floor is far too short, and yet, he still feels his own lungs struggling to catch up.

His head aches with too many thoughts swirling inside, the realization growing louder and bolder until it is the only thing that screams in his head.

Muku slams the door shut behind him, wide-eyed and gasping for air. His roommate slowly sits up from his bed, likely surprised from his frantic appearance.

“Mukkun? What’s wrong?”

“It was me.” Is the only thing he says. Kazunari looks perplexed until something in his head must have clicked not even a moment later. The blonde leaps out of his bed, strides urgent as he collects Muku in his arms and allows the younger boy to bury his face on the crook of his neck. Muku’s grip finds purchase on Kazunari’s shirt, desperately clinging onto the fabric in an attempt to ground himself.

“It was _me_ , Kazu-kun. I did that to him.” His sobs make his voice crack. The older boy holds him tighter in one arm, his free hand reaching up to card through soft pink hair in an effort to placate him. It works, barely; a fresh wave of tears stain Kazunari’s shirt a shade darker. “I, I — how could I have—? Why didn’t—”

He blubbers incomplete sentences but Kazunari doesn’t stop him, doesn’t ask him to slow down and use his words. Instead, he makes noncommittal noises that sound a lot like choked back tears, a kindness that urges Muku to release everything. He doesn’t think he deserves any of it and wails louder into the cotton of Kazunari’s shirt. It’s a miracle no one pops in to check on them when Muku feels like he’s throwing the biggest tantrum on earth.

When his voice finally grows hoarse and his tears begin to dry, Muku tightens his grip and feels phantom petals lodge itself in his throat. It begs him, dares him to cough and spit out flowers he knows aren’t there. He breathes heavily, lungs unobstructed, and Muku would laugh if he isn’t so busy trying not to puke on his roommate’s sleep clothes from the disgusting irony.

.

.

.

❀

Once upon a time, Rurikawa Yuki had loved him enough to sprout flowers in his lungs and Muku hates that it is that fact alone that saves him from the same fate.

**Author's Note:**

> alternate summary would have been: 
> 
> "Once upon a time, Sakisaka Muku realizes he is in love with a person medically conditioned to never be able to love him back. It seems like a tragedy waiting to happen, when he frames it this way, and perhaps one day Tsuzuru might find inspiration in a story like theirs."
> 
> but also hello !! i wanted to do a take on hanahaki too bc who says there's only one way to deal w it huh >:')))
> 
> this was absolutely inspired by Ryu's [two breaths walking](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25488577) !! please check it out it pains me but it's infinitely more hopeful than this one i think?? LOLOL
> 
> // edit: almost forgot but i wanted to put in a few things but it didn’t really make sense for the whole narrative so here :’D
> 
> \- tenma was supposed to appear after filming overseas. muku would speculate that tenma was the cause of hanahaki but is surprised (and relieved, though he doesn’t understand why) to find out that, apart from a few things, yuki remembers tenma quite well. tenma, meanwhile, knows exactly who it is but doesn’t say a thing bc it’s “not my secret to tell”  
> \- there was a scene to better explain the memory loss but it was just bleh. generally, post-surgery memory only affects the moment you realize you like them romantically (for yuki, it was the mukuyuki cg www) until just before the surgery (which would be about five plays after floral prince). It’s why Yuki doesn’t completely forget Muku, but only knows him as the track ace Sakisaka.  
> \- hisoka is supposed to be a hanahaki survivor and would explain why his memories are so fuzzy. Muku and Hisoka were supposed to talk about what happens after the surgery, but I transferred the scene to one with izumi :’D


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